"Ah, Ry ..." I smile, shaking my head with a little laugh. "It's only Wednesday."

"All the more reason to have a drink. Sybil would want you to," he teases before adding, "Well, one of the personalities would. I'm sure of it."

When I hesitate, he goes in for the kill. "The white sangria will be on me tonight."

This man already knows me too well.

"Fine." I smile, gazing out my window and wishing I could see him in his office. The glare of the sun is reflecting off the windows of his building, but he's likely sitting in his chair, watching me with those binoculars and a huge grin on his handsome face. "I'll meet you as soon as Sybil leaves the office at five."

"I'll wait for you in the lobby."

"See you then, handsome."

"Later, gorgeous." Hanging up the phone in the cradle on my desk, I can't help but smile at the way he calls me "gorgeous" and how his tone gets low and sounds huskier.

Sigh. I need to get a grip and quit lusting over my roommate.

Chapter Six.

Ry These binoculars are the devil.

What the hell was I thinking, accepting a pair to test out from one of the other guys in the office who oversees product samples? And now, when I should be working on the expense budget, I'm watching Mags as she's talking to someone on speakerphone while she simultaneously types on her computer. Her hair is twisted up into a clip, a few tendrils loose around her face, with what appears to be no fewer than three pens stuck in her hair. It makes me chuckle, knowing she's likely forgotten they're there. And that concentrated expression of hers, the way she nibbles on her bottom lip just so ...

I'm a goner. Not to mention, I'm veering into the realm of being a Peeping Tom. Damn it. But she's just so beautiful.

Dragging my eyes away, I swivel my chair back around to face my computer, setting the binoculars on the far left corner of my desk. I need to get my shit together and stop spying on my roommate.

Glancing at the time on the bottom right corner of my computer monitor, I mentally calculate how much time I have before Maggie and I meet for happy hour.

And it's depressing how long I have to wait.

One of our servers had something screwy going on, and I had to get my best people on it, trying to determine what the hell the deal was. Turns out, someone decided to try to hack into our data network, and it ended up being-shocker-a disgruntled employee. Needless to say, hacking into a company's data isn't exactly small peanuts. This former employee will now be dealing with a whole hell of a lot more than just being unemployed.

This is why I'm sprinting out of my building, willing the damn crosswalk to hurry the hell up and light the signal for pedestrians. As soon as that sucker lights up, I dart across Broadway, weaving in and around the slow, leisurely walkers to Maggie's building. Tugging the heavy door open, I heave myself inside, breathing heavily.

Letting out a sigh of relief when I don't see any sign of her, I pull my phone from my pocket, sliding onto the large bench inside the lobby. My phone says I'm barely a minute past five o'clock, but I hate being late. It's one of my pet peeves, like the other person's time isn't as valuable. Thankfully, Maggie and I share this viewpoint on tardiness.

Glancing down the hallway to where the two quiet elevators sit, I worry that maybe Sybil has piled some last-minute work on her. Maybe I should head up and see if I can't rescue her- Ding!

One elevator opens, presenting Maggie, and the instant she sees me sitting, waiting for her, a wide, carefree smile forms. The same kind of smile that makes my chest tighten, makes it hard to breathe, and makes me not ever want a day to come when that same smile doesn't grace my presence.

I tsk with an expression of sham disapproval. "You're late."

Her heels click on the floor, echoing throughout the lobby, and my eyes can't resist slipping down to take in her legs and those heels of hers. She's wearing a fitted, pinstriped skirt and a matching jacket over a silky cream-colored blouse. With the entire picture she creates, I know I'll be thinking about her later. I'll imagine bending her over my desk, drawing her skirt up to see what kind of panties she's wearing beneath it.

"Ry?"

Shit. I've been staring. Attempting to shake off the cloud of horniness that's hanging over me, I offer her a smile and stand, gallantly offering my arm.

"Shall we, Ms. Finegan?"

"Oooh." Her eyes light up teasingly as she links her arm through mine. "All prim and proper now, are we?"

I wink at her. "Only for you, madam."

We push through the doors and head down the sidewalk, still arm in arm. We make our way to Max Londons, slipping inside and managing to snag two seats at the bar. After I order a white sangria for her and a Saratoga Lager for myself, we both let out long sighs before turning to each other with a laugh.

"One of those days, huh?"

"Yep," I answer, nodding. "I'm so glad it's over."

I catch sight of us in the mirrored wall behind the bar, quickly locking that image of the way we both look in my memory-tired but happy to be in the other's company.

She takes a sip of her sangria, savoring the taste of her favorite cocktail before blowing out a long breath. It makes me instantly tense because I've gotten to know Maggie pretty well already, and I know by that long exhale that something's up. And it's likely not too pleasant.

She further confirms my suspicion when she falls silent, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass.

Leaning in, I nudge her lightly with my arm. "What's wrong, Mags?"

Turning her head, her eyes rest on me. "I got an email from Shane today."

My jaw clenches so tight it's a wonder I don't crack any molars. "What did that dipshit have to say?" I take a sip of my beer, trying to calm my rage at the asshole who hurt her. The asshole who discarded her so carelessly.

The asshole who's likely realized what he'd tossed aside; has likely realized how fucking incredible Maggie is.

Please don't fucking tell me you're going to get back together with him. Please. Don't. Say. That, I beg internally.

"He said he wanted to apologize for everything, but he didn't think I'd accept his calls or text messages. That he wanted to apologize in person and thought that maybe we could ..." She trails off, waiting for me to meet her eyes before finishing with, "... get together sometime."

Oh, fuck no.

Nodding, I attempt to school my features by inhaling a deep, calming breath.

Which doesn't really work well at calming me.

Studying her expression, I try to decipher what she's thinking but come up empty. "What are you going to do?"

She lets out another sigh, shaking her head and turning her attention back to her glass of sangria. "It's been five months, and he suddenly feels bad?" Pursing her lips, she looks back at me. "I think I'm finally over it-over what he did-because I really didn't feel anything when I read that email. I just felt ..." Tipping her head to the side, as if trying to find the words, she finally says, "... bored. Irritated, maybe. But good because I know exactly what I want now-more than ever."

My shoulders sag in relief at her words. "You deserve better, Mags."

She gives me one of those sweet smiles. "Thanks, Ry." Knocking her shoulder against mine playfully, her smile widens. "You know what we need to do, right?"

Grinning, I reach over to snag a fresh bar napkin just as she pulls a pen from her purse. Sliding the napkin over to her, she writes on it: I want to be with someone who is not only the love of my life but my best friend, too.

When she offers it to me, I mull over my response for a moment before deciding to be simple and to the point.

I want the same. Always.

Chapter Seven.

Maggie "Ryland James!" I bang on his bathroom door, hollering loudly. "Did you eat the last-"

The door swings open, drawing my speech to a sudden halt because ... ooooh, sweet, dripping wet abs.

My eyes are riveted.

He's got a towel wrapped around his waist, and I don't even realize I'm moving until Ry releases a sharp hiss at my touch. Because my finger is tracing over the slight indentations in his abdominal muscles.

"Um ..." He clears his throat, his voice husky and deep. "Mags?"

"Uh-huh," I murmur absently, my fingertip stopping one of the trickling droplets of water on his skin, tracing it down over his belly button, and- His fingers grasp my wrist, drawing my hand to a halt, and my eyes dart up to his in alarm because crap. That was like an out-of-body experience.

"Oh, crap. I'm sorry. I just really, um ... crap." That's all I can utter. Nonsense. No one would believe I have my graduate degree if they heard me right now.

If my tongue had a voice of its own, it would probably say something like, "Just the tip. That's all I want." The tip of my tongue tracing over Ry's abs, that is. You know, just to prove someone Photoshopped him. Or not.

Because I'll take one for the team. I'm a giver like that. People might even think of canonizing me as a saint after all this. Really.

Oh, and then ... Abracadabra! Poof! He'd no longer be gay, profess his undying love for me, and wouldn't ever leave me for another guy.

Or woman.

Wow. That scenario even sounds crazy in my head.

Shaking off my thoughts, I take one more glance down at his abs-just one more glance-and that's when I see it.

"Oh, boy," I breathe out. Ry is hard, tenting the towel, and I really want it to drop. Accidentally, of course. Like an "oops" moment. Totally harmless and innocent.

Oh. My. God. I'm a horrible person. I'm thinking of my roommate's penis! My roommate who has quickly become one of my best friends.

Oh, the shame!

Where did this inner slut come from? It's like she's been lying in wait-for him, apparently.

But, really. I can take a little peek, right?

"No, you can't." My head jerks up to see Ry looking down at me, his expression a mixture of what looks to be amusement and pain.

Crap. I just said that out loud-that bit about taking a peek. Crap, crap, crap, craaaaap.

"Did you actually need something, Mags?" His voice sounds strained, and he's still holding my wrist captive. Which is likely a smart move on his part. Ah-ah, but I still have another one.

"Don't make me grab that one, too, Finegan."

He's on to me. Dang it.

Letting out a sad, defeated sigh, I pout. "Your abs are inhuman, Ry. It's like someone carved you or something." I shake my head, gazing adoringly at said abs once again. "Or Photoshopped the hell out of you."

His husky laugh washes over me. "You finished lusting over me, now, Mags?"

Sighing, I meet his eyes. "I guess." Then a thought hits me. "Wait a minute. You just got arous-"

"I ate your leftover sushi." His words are rushed, hurried, throwing me off track.

Glaring, I tug my wrist from his hold, hands going to my hips in a huff. "How could you? You knew that I was loving that kamikaze roll! Ugh!" Turning and stomping down the hall, I toss over my shoulder, "Just for that, I get to choose the movie for tonight, buddy."

"Can't," he calls out. "I'm going out with Jack tonight."

I stop dead in my tracks before darting over to the dry erase calendar we have on the kitchen wall. Sure enough, it's marked there: Jack, 7pm.

I don't want to admit how depressing that sight is, having nearly forgotten that Jack is actually Ry's boyfriend. He'd been out of town a lot lately for his job, and I guess I've gotten a bit spoiled by having Ry to myself. Aside from the times Sarah came over, of course. Just last week, the three of us ordered pizza, and when Sarah and I applied mud masks to our faces, Ry complained that he felt left out. The night ended with the three of us sitting there on the couch, mud masks in place, watching The Princess Bride and quoting the entire movie aloud.

That definitely went down as one of my favorite Saturdays to date. Not to mention, the surprise in Ry's tone when he ran his hands over his face after rinsing off that mask, remarking at how smooth and soft his skin felt.

"Mags?" Ry calls out from the bathroom as I hear him moving around, likely prepping for his date night with Jack.

"Yes, I just forgot. Sorry." I attempt to make my tone light. Sarah's working a crazy long shift at the hospital tonight, so I guess it's just me, myself, and I. I'll likely catch up on some episodes of Kimmy Schmidt and gorge on some popcorn.

Wild and crazy, that's me. Just living the dream, people. Living the dream.

Ry finds me standing in the kitchen, still staring at the calendar. Sidling up to me, he smells so freaking awesome that I literally want to grab him by his shirt, press my face to his chest, and breathe him in.

If that doesn't flash, "Weirdo Alert," I don't know what will. Good God, I need to get a grip.

"You want me to cancel?"

Turning to face him, I give him an incredulous look, shaking my head. "No. Absolutely not."

"You sure?" His head tips to the side, a tiny lock of hair shifting over his forehead.

Reaching up, I brush it back, offering what I hope is an easy smile. "Not a chance. You're all dolled up and need to have some one-on-one time with your man."

He huffs out a laugh that sounds ... off, but then he pulls me in for a hug, wrapping his arms around me, and I get the chance to smell him again. God, does he smell good.